


Into, Under, and Behind

by opalmatrix



Category: Alliance-Union - C. J. Cherryh
Genre: Competency, Haunting, Life Partners, Multi, Sabotage, Spaceships, Team as Family, Technology, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: Norway's salvage operation at Viking keeps running into dangerous snags, and Ben, of all people, is having nightmares. Never say things can't get worse.





	Into, Under, and Behind

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, a ghost story in space. Because a monster would be just too obvious. Prompts: "Ghost," as well as [this picture](https://images42.fotki.com/v1215/photos/6/3814576/16026379/ostadamschumpert_jpg1462995552-vi.jpg). The only problem was, it's not a science fiction pic, and this is a hard SF fandom. Hope you all enjoy! No beta, so all mistakes are my own.

Ben woke suddenly, his heart going like a hammer, with a vague memory of someone shouting. His throat was sore, and he realized that it had been him.

"Shit!' Sal was rubbing her head, barely visible in the dark of their cabin. "What's wrong with you?"

Someone was knocking on the door. "Guys? You OK in there?" It was Meg's voice.

"Ben again," said Sal, sounding both angry and resigned. "I banged my head, sitting up too fast."

The door opened, just a crack. They didn't usually bother with the locks inside their quarters: damn-all they hadn't seen of each other, over the years. "What's up with you lately, Ben?" asked Dekker.

"Everyone just shut up," growled Ben. He hated this. _Dek_ was the one who had nightmares, not Ben. Sal was glaring at him. He couldn't really blame her.

"You need some ice on that bump, girlfriend?" asked Meg.

"He oughta get it, the spook," said Sal.

That hurt. The fact that it was what Ben used to call Dekker … he guessed he deserved it,. And that was painful too. "I'll get it," he muttered, rolling out of bed.

When he got back from their tiny fridge with the ice, wrapped in a washrag, Sal had the bedside lamp up half, and Meg and Dek had made themselves at home on the other bed. Ben handed Sal the improvised cold pack and propped himself against the wall, arms folded and eyes on the floor. It was 04:00 Mainday, and they had to get up for work in two hours.

"Ben," said Meg, very serious, no endearments. "You got to get this fixed. Nightmares like this aren't any kind of normal, 'specially not for you. We could have Mazianni dropping into this system any minute, and even if they don't, we got enough to do without our partner waking us up every night or two yelling about his mama."

Ben winced. His face was hot, and he knew it was probably deep red.

Sal reached out and tugged on his arm. "Cher, don't get all humiliated. We been through all kinds of hell together, know each other too damn well. But Meg's right, you got to get this fixed."

Across the way, Dek nodded, his face all earnest, forehead wrinkled. Ben gave silent thanks that Moonbeam hadn't opened his mouth: sympathetic words from that quarter would have broken him down entirely.

"So I'm gonna put this brut blunt," said Meg. "You can pick whether you want to talk to Dr. Sena or Graff, your choice. Because if you don't do it on your own, you'll do it anyway, 'cause _I'll_ talk to one of them."

Dr. Sena was decent enough for a doctor, but Commander Jurgen Graff, _Norway_'s executive officer, had known them from their first hour as part of the Fleet. And he was a guy. "Graff," Ben said.

"Today," said Meg, and there was no arguing with that tone. "Let's go back to bed, maybe we can still catch an hour."

* * *

Graff tilted his chair back and ran his hand over the pale bristles of his close-cut hair, now almost white with rejuv. "So, nightmares about your mother's death for four nights now? Pretty much ever since system drop?"

"Yes sir," said Ben, his eyes on Graff's desktop. "Plus … the other day, when we were checking out the aft rider loft on the _Libya_ wreck, I thought I saw her."

Graff's eyebrows rose and he rocked forward again, his hands resting on the desktop. "When you were awake? You didn't doze off for a moment?"

"Not after what happened to Keano in the station skimmer dock."

Graff frowned, genuinely angry. The accidents that had dogged _Norway_'s crew since they started this salvage operation at Viking had freaked all of them out. Some of it might just be the result of tired, frightened station techs on the one hand and _Libya_ crew losing it under fire on the other, but things just kept happening. Lt. Keano might never regain full function of the hand that had got caught in a closing section door that should have been locked open. "I know you don't want to talk to Dr. Sena, Pollard, but I think you have to. I can't do anything about this kind of problem. But I'm not telling the Old Lady yet, unless Sena thinks it's necessary."

In the dark hours of the early morning and over a breakfast that Ben didn't recall tasting, he'd come to the same conclusion about the doctor. And it was a relief to know that Captain Mallory wasn't going to hear about this—yet. "Yes, sir." he said. He listened while Graff made the call to _Norway_'s chief medical officer and set up an appointment for Ben, in 10 minutes.

Ben figured that was that, but as he rose to go, Graff said "Pollard? Does your mother actually say anything to you, in these dreams?"

Ben didn't want to think back to that horrifying vision, his mother being crushed by the walls of a ship going down over Jupiter. He didn't want to think about whether that made any sense, whether the vacuum would have got her and Dad before the ship was compressed like that. But his mouth was apparently on autopilot: "She said, 'Always look twice, Benjy. Into, under, and behind.' But that's just what she used to say when I couldn't find my shoes or something."

"Still," said Graff, "It's not bad advice, given what's been happening."

* * *

Dr. Sena gave him some pills. They looked disturbingly like part of Dekker's huge collection from back on R2, when Morrie Bird was still alive. Doc had warned him that he might not see much of a result for three or four days, and she'd offered him some sleeping pills for the meantime. But Ben didn't want to be stuck in a dream with Mom, unable to wake up, so he'd turned those down. The result was that he was sleeping alone in the cabin he usually shared with Sal, while she slept in the unused bed in Meg and Dek's cabin. That did not do much for a man's ego, to chase his partner out of her usual bed.

Two days after that, when he'd had one OK night and one night where he woke up in a sweat but managed not to wake up the rest of the team, Graff had all the rider core crews in for a briefing on the next part of the _Libya_ salvage job. In addition to the remains of the carrier itself, they'd located the shells of two riders, _Tarabulus_ and _Banghazi_, and an apparently fully intact skimmer, floating in a cloud of icy asteroids and debris. "As you know," said Graff, "_Libya_ took out 70% of Viking's skimmers when they pulled out, a deliberate act of sabotage. For skimmer VKS 213, I'm making the assignment instead of asking for your preferences. It's a very old skimmer, according to Viking central registry, room for no more than two crew. Probably an Earth original, delivered in the station's earliest days, Kady, I want you in there, for your expertise in older vessels. Pollard, you've got the electronics skills, and like Kady, you're a miner. Getting the skimmer out of that debris intact won't be a piece of easy."

The hell, thought Ben, rubbing his gritty eyes; Dek was the better pilot, if only two of them could work this job. But Graff was looking right at him: Dekker was no one's best bet, in a small ship with the chance of a crack-up. Ben glanced at his crewmates. Meg looked worried but interested; Sal and Dek just looked worried. Graff continued with the assignments, putting Sal and Dek with Almarshad's team on the _Banghazi_. Finally they all got up to head out to their assigned stations. After suiting up for possible vacuum, they joined a bunch of techs in one of the station's two rescue shuttles, which would take them out the the salvage operations.

The skimmer site was the last stop. Ben and Meg waved to Sal and Dek and watched them shimmy into the umbilicus attached to the _Banghazi_. Meg heaved the lock door shut behind them. When Ben looked forward to where the shuttle pilot and copilot were getting ready to pull away, his mother was sitting in the jump seat behind them.

He grabbed Meg's hand as she came back to her seat. "Ben, what? That hurts."

His mouth was dry. Mom said, distinctly, "Always look twice, Benjy. Remember. She knows."

"_Who_ knows?" he whispered. This wasn't what Mom had been saying, before.

"Ben. Look at me," said Meg.

He couldn't. The walls were closing in on Mom.

Meg slapped him. He blinked and turned to face her. Her mouth was a narrow line, and for once she looked her age. "Ben Pollard, do I need to have them turn this crate around? Are you together enough for this? Graff thought so."

Commander Graff trusted him, even though Graff must've talked to Sena. The station needed this skimmer, and so did _Norway_, so she could refuel quickly. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I've got it. I'm tracking."

"So help me, Ben, you'd better be. We got an EVA in a busy field coming up, not to mention we got to get that skimmer out of there."

Ben did some breathing, triggering off the deep-taught concentration they'd all been taught back in their earliest training for Hellburner. Meg did the same, gradually relaxing. When the shuttle pilot cut the engines, Ben figured they were as ready as they'd ever be. 

"Sure you want to do this?" said the pilot. The view forward showed a field full of rock and ice chunks in all sizes, from masses as big as the 30-passenger shuttle down to fist-sized pieces that could still hole a suit. The skimmer was maybe a thousand meters away, and way beyond it, one of the two gas giant planets that orbited the mass point hung, a skanky-looking blob in sludgy colors.

"No problemo, sister," said Meg. "We got the skills, thousands of hours picking rocks in the Belt. Ben, here, take your pack." They put their suits to rights, adding the jet packs that were separate add-ons to a Fleet suit, not an integral part like in a Belt miner's suit. Ben followed Meg into the lock, and they waited for it to cycle.

"Last chance Ben," said Meg, over the closed-channel suit comm link. "You good?"

"I'm good. Told you, I'm tracking."

"Well, here we go, cher."

The outer door opened, and they were face to face with the mess. Meg led the way out, neat and smooth as ever she was back in their miner years: no showout today, all business. Ben followed her.

"All clear?" asked the shuttle pilot, over the general comm.

"All clear," Ben confirmed. He followed Meg through the rocks and iceballs. It was almost soothing, picking their way through, familiar, everyday stuff in the Belt. Their only concerns were the here-and-now of their path through the objects, observing and calcing, timing and breathing, no room in his thoughts for anything else.

They made it to the skimmer and grappled-to alongside the hatch. "Seems intact," said Meg. "Viking Shuttle Beta, she looks good. We're gonna open the hatch."

Ben shone his suit light on the hatch lock and applied the gadget that would let him crack the lock code, starting with the common parameters passed to them by Viking Central Control. To his surprise, the cracker tool hit home on the first pass. "Too easy," he muttered. But really, why would anyone secure a skimmer like it was core control codes or something? He got the hatch open, and Meg looked in.

"Nothing nasty," she reported. They'd _had_ nasty, in _Libya_'s main ops: crew caught in decompression after ordnance went through the hull. Ben could have lived without ever seeing any of that. He took a breath to bring himself back to the here-and-now and trailed Meg into the skimmer's little crew compartment. The main boards weren't secured at all, and Meg hit the lights and then the door. Ben started the environmental routine, and they sat in the pilot/copilot seats, checking the boards and watching the pressure, temperature, and oxy levels come up.__

__

__

"She looks in good shape," said Ben. "But the crew must've got out. Wonder why they didn't sabotage it when they left?"

"Maybe they were station crew, not _Libya_," said Meg. "This boat's panel reminds me of my old Earth-LEO shuttle. They've even got the same kind of system documentation all over the walls, did you notice? Just in case there's neo crew. But I think we're good." She unlocked her helmet seal and took it off, sniffing the air. "Smells OK," she said, as she took off her suit gloves. "How's the fuel level?"

"Good," said Ben, setting aside his own helmet and gloves. "Hell, this is too easy, Meg. I thought we'd need to do a bunch of repairs."

"Yeah, it does make a body wonder," said Meg. "But the boards look all clear." She toggled the comm on. "Ow, switches are still pretty cold. Beta, this crate's in really great shape. We're getting ready to crank 'er up and move 'er out."

"Great news, Kady. We're standing by," answered the shuttle.

Meg's queuing up the start sequences. "Stand by ignition," she said, and checked her seat harness.

Ben did the same and leaned back, trying to breathe normally. His skin was crawling, and he didn't know why.

"Firing mains," said Meg, flicking a switch.

The main engines cut in hard: much too hard. "What the hell?" exclaimed Meg.

The skimmer swerved back toward the shuttle and missed it by much too close a margin. The collision alarm went off, over and over, as rocks hit the hull. Ben scanned the boards frantically, trying to see something he could do.

"Kady, Pollard!" shouted the shuttle pilot over the comm. "You damn near hit us!"

Meg was flipping toggles frantically. "The cut-off isn't working!"

The speaker came live again: "Enjoy the trip, you bastards!" said a voice Ben didn't recognize. "Damn it!" he shouted, "What kind of sick bastard—."

"Benjy."

Oh crap. _That_ was a familiar voice.

He turned around, straining against the seat harness. Mom was right behind his shoulder. "Always look twice, Benjy. She knows."

"_Who_ knows, Mom?"

"Ben," said Meg, her voice strained and distracted; "Who are you talking to?"

"Ask her, Benjy," said Mom. "Into, under, and behind."

Something big hit the skimmer. "Ben, get your head back here!" shouted Meg. "Oh, God, we're headed for that gas giant!" She yanked open a wall locker and started chucking tools out of it onto the floor. She grabbed a pry bar and started to work on the edge of the main control panel, but when she got it popped, she groaned. "Ben, there's a mess in here; someone cut a hole in the floor, and there're wires leading down into it."

Ben grabbed a cutter and unbuckled his seat harness. The only thing he could think of was pure crazy, but he was seeing his mother, who'd been dead 20 years and more, so why not. "Meg! Earth, shuttles and shit, smuggling. In this thing, where would you put stuff? All that fancy booze?"

"We are _so dead_, and you want to know about _smuggling_?" She looked up from the wiring and out the front shield, where the blob of the gas giant was coming up much too fast. Ben winced at the sight: Jupiter and Mom and Dad. "Talk, Meg!" he urged.

She swiveled in her seat, scanning the walls of the tiny crew compartment. "Hell, is there an aft stowage? Damn, there is!"

Ben lurched out of his seat and staggered to the rear panel. Now that Meg had pointed it out, he could see that it was actually a doorway, the edges obscured by the huge circuit and fuel systems diagrams pasted across it. Another impact jolted the skimmer, and he half fell against the door, the cutter clutched in his right hand. "Here, Meg?"

Mom looked at him, a warning expression on her face. "Into, under, and behind, Benjy, I told you." He could see Meg right through her. "Yes!" shouted Meg,

Ben felt all around, but when he located the latch, it wouldn't budge. He lined up the cutter, hoping as hard as he could that he had the right penetration, and turned it on. The smell of hot metal filled the little compartment, and warnings from the enviro settings blared along with the collision alarm. He cut a hole around the latch area, and then hit the chunk of metal with his elbow. It fell in, and the door panel came loose. In the stowage compartment behind, an extra suit hung on the wall, along with some oxy tanks, and that was it. "There's nothing in here that matters, Meg!"

"Hell, check the floor! Is it too high? Does it match the main compartment floor? Shit, shit, … ."

It _was_ too high, by maybe 15 centimeters. Ben hammered his palm all over the scratched synth matting of floor, trying to listen to the thumps through the blaring chaos of the alarms. Abruptly, there was a click, and part of the floor popped up just a skoch. He grabbed the edge, and it pulled up, revealing a small compartment. Wires came up from a messy little hole in the steel decking, attached to a small computer that was secured with some webbing.

Ben dropped the cutter and fell to his knees. He pulled his little electronics kit from a leg pocket on his suit. "Got it! Hold on, Meg; I'm not sure what's going to happen when I disconnect this crap."

He cut the wires. The engine coughed and then died. More anguished warning noises from the boards. Meg, her voice tight, said "We're still carrying a hell of a load of velocity, Benjy, and I can't fire the retro thrusters. Not sure about life support, either. We better hope that's on a backup battery."

"I'm coming," Ben said, clambering forward as the skimmer shuddered from another big impact and the alarm sounded again. It was damn good that these craft were heavily shielded because of the work they needed to do. "You said there was a mess under the main panel."

They peered at the wiring together. Now that they knew where it had to be going, it was pretty clear what was up. Ben tried hard not to think about the fact that they were still approaching the gas giant. He took the power to the board down, which silenced the alarms. Then he disconnected things, reconnected other things, and finally said, "OK, Meg, get ready to check the board."

He powered it up, and there were no alarms. Meg flipped toggles, the board gave off quiet little feedback peeps, and things started humming. "Stow the stuff, Ben, and strap in. I need to get us turned around and headed away from that gas ball."

Ben slapped all the tools willy-nilly into the locker: his, the skimmer's. If they survived, he could sort it out later. He stood up, stiff, and fell into the other seat, reaching for the straps. "All set, Meg."

"Here we go." The mains kicked in again—sanely. Meg steered them into a curve. "Gonna make that thing's gravity work for us," she said, her voice tight. They were pretty damn close to be trying a trick like that, and they both knew it.

"Well-divers are fools," Ben said: old jibe, deserving of the pissed-off look she gave him. He shut up and let her drive, trying hard not to watch the changing view of the gas giant or read too much into the shifting pressures.

Maybe an hour later, she sighed and shifted her shoulders, relaxing. "Benjy, we're good. We're out of it. I got complete control. Can you get a fix on the station, lay us a plot back?"

He brought up the nav functions on the secondary board and pulled up library: slow, old system. But then the first fix came in from one of the navigation satellites, and the next. "We're getting there, Meg. We can do this."

"Of course, we can, Benjy. Miner know-how, right?" She gave him a tired smile.

The comm came alive then. "Kady, Pollard, is that you?"

It was Graff. Ben wondered what the shuttle had told _Norway_. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed. "Yessir, it's us. We had another incident. Someone diverted nav and engine control to a hidden computer. We got it back, we're good. Just got to get through these rocks and back to station."

There was a slamming sound, distorted by the distance, but recognizable: someone's fist had hit a panel. Ben exchanged glances with Meg: the commander wasn't given to shows of temper. "Hold on," Graff said. "Someone wants to talk to you."

"Good job, you two. Take it easy coming in. We'll be waiting to welcome you." It was Captain Mallory herself. "Looking forward to hearing the details. Mallory out."

"Wonder which one of them slammed the panel," said Meg, once the signal cut off. "Now all we've got is this damn debris field. How's our fuel?"

Ben flipped the display. "Crud. A little low. But it's not like we don't have enough ice out there."

"I've never worked the arm and sling on one of these things," said Meg, poring over the control options. "All right, skimmer, you're a douce little crate! It has a tutorial, Ben."

"Never thought I'd have to work one of these things," muttered Ben, glancing over at her display. "Well, it's a new skill, I guess."

Meg snickered, a little giddy. "So's refuse collection, chelovek." She looked up from the demo simulation: "You figure you'll sleep sound tonight, cher?"

Ben blinked. It actually took him a second to remember why she'd be asking. Mom wasn't anywhere that he could see, and it was like his head was clear for the first time since they'd hit Viking system. "You know, tonight, I think I will," he said.


End file.
